


Hot Showering

by yanatya



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-31
Updated: 2008-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanatya/pseuds/yanatya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2008 <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/bubbleficathon/59071.html">Bubbleficathon</a>, to fulfill the prompt for <i>House/Foreman and a whirlpool tub</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Showering

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for not bringing the porn. Or the plot.

Three hours, Eric Foreman decided, was nowhere near enough sleep. He shifted stiffly in the uncomfortable chair, trying to stretch out the kinks his muscles had accrued from a night spent there.

The staff lounge was empty as he stumbled over to the coffee maker. Dumping out the remnants of last night, he started a fresh pot, then realized that even before the coffee, he needed a shower.

Except, the male doctors' bathroom-slash-locker-room stank. It always stank. He'd been there before when the hospital cleaning staff had come in, scrubbed the place from top to bottom, and left it fresh and bleach-smelling. Within hours, though, the smell of old urine and dank sweat had permeated again, as though no one had cleaned it in days.

After three hours sleep? He deserved better--and he knew just where to go. No one would be putting patients through their physical therapy this early in the morning. Braving the stench of the men's locker for less than a minute, he retrieved his wash kit, towel, and a change of clothes, then headed to the PT centre.

As predicted, the place was empty. Stepping carefully past the mats, the bars, the weights, and other ingenious devices designed to strengthen obscure muscles in the human body, he made for the water therapy area. A large steel whirlpool tub steamed gently in the centre of the room, and the faint tickle of chlorine in his nose let him know that the cleaning staff had worked in here recently.

He stopped beside the tub, dipping two long fingers into the water. Still quite warm, almost hot, although the heater had probably turned off overnight.

Tempting.

He breathed deeply, inhaling the sultry humidity of the air, and considered for a full twenty seconds.

But no, he had work to do, and if he sat down in that tub, he'd fall asleep again and possibly never want to leave. Exhaling on a sigh, he headed further back to the shower area, stripped off his clothes, and cranked on the hot water.

It wasn't the whirlpool tub, but it was still pretty damn good. Turning his face upward, he let the water pour down over it, streaming past his lips, his ears, sliding heat down his neck, over his shoulders, and down his torso. Another deep breath, turning around under the shower head, and the heat coursed down over his back, easing his muscles and sensitizing his skin, almost but not quite like a satisfying back scratch.

He let his head drop forward, the muscles in his shoulders and neck stretching in response, and shrugged out the tension in each shoulder, one after another, as the water beat down. Turning to face the shower head again, he dropped his head back now and arched his spine, letting his pectoral and abdominal muscles receive the wet heat.

Better, he decided, and reached for the soap. He took his time, lathering himself well in order to prolong his minutes in the hot water. As he rinsed, he felt the soap suds form rivulets that flowed over the contours of his muscles and down the valley of his spine. They streamed over his hips and thighs, tickling and warming, and he just stood there for a few moments, enjoying the sensation.

More than a few moments. After about five minutes, he realized he was rooted to the spot, addicted to the heat, and above all, practically falling asleep standing up.

No, no, no. He had to go back to work, and soon. Cursing, gritting his teeth, he put his hands on the faucets and slowly changed the balance of hot and cold to gently cool the water down.

Not a favourite technique, but effective. The warm cloak of water gradually cooled, causing his heat-sensitized skin to protest. He shuddered. Tingling spikes ran up his back and he shoved them away. He wasn't aiming for a true cold shower, but as he acclimatized to the new temperature, he turned the heat down a bit more. The pressure still felt good against his skin, but now it was raising goosebumps.

Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and turned under the showerhead so that the rest of his body got the full benefit of the cool water. More uncomfortable tingles zipped along his nerves, but he persisted. And it did the trick--he was much more awake now.

Just a few more mo--

"Hey!" The shower curtain was ripped back unceremoniously.

Foreman blinked, finding himself eye-to-eye with the blue, unflinching glare of House.

"What the hell are you doing here?" House started in. "This area is for patients."

Foreman didn't flinch. "Which would mean you're here because..."

"I have a bad leg."

"You haven't done physiotherapy in months."

"Maybe I want to."

"Maybe you just want some alone time in that whirlpool," Foreman countered. "Anyway, a little privacy here?" He grasped the shower curtain to pull it away from House.

"And maybe you just wanted some alone time to--hang on." House stuck his hand in the shower and Foreman ducked away. "A cold shower? A cold shower!"

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Just waking myself up."

"Really?" House's lips twitched. "No hanky-panky? Not, in fact, waking up with a stiffie after dreaming of the triage team naked?"

"Are you done?"

"No, I'm not done! I'm just getting started. Foreman takes cold showers in the morning to," House quirked his fingers, "'wake up'."

Foreman wrenched the shower curtain away forcibly and tried to shut House out. "I'll be done in a minute, and you can have the place all to yourself."

"A minute in a cold shower, is that all it--" House broke off, staring down.

"What now?" Foreman asked, impatient.

"You've been standing under that cold shower for more than a minute. For several minutes, in fact..." House muttered, his eyes widening.

Foreman followed House's gaze down, and rolled his eyes again. "What's the matter? Doesn't yours shrink in cold water?"

House cleared his throat, and appeared to recollect himself. "If that's shrinkage, I pity the poor drug rep who takes you on when you're at full capacity."

Foreman made another try for the shower curtain and this time was successful in drawing it closed between them. "Goodbye, House," he said firmly,

Through the shower curtain, he could see House backing a few steps away "I guess the adage is true," House said, clearly trying for the last word. "Once you go--"

SPLASH.

"Falling into a whirlpool tub," Foreman finished, taking only a second to shut off the shower before going to help his boss.

House had gone over backwards into the whirlpool, his legs still dangling uselessly outside, and was consequently spluttering and flailing for purchase. It was the work a moment for Foreman to grasp his hands and haul him bodily out of the tub altogether.

"You okay?" he asked, steadying the older man as he staggered, soaking wet and coughing up water.

House nodded, then lost his balance again, prompting Foreman to put his arms around him to hold him up more fully.

"Careful."

After another few seconds, the coughing eased. "I'm good," House insisted.

Slowly, Foreman relaxed his grip and House began to straighten.

"Gotta say, though," House continued. "If anyone walked in here right now, they wouldn't say I'd hired you to make up my affirmative action numbers."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." Foreman let go of House completely and stepped back, turning to his own stack of dry, clean clothing.

"No," said House went on. "You, completely naked, me, sopping wet? They'll say you boffed your way into the job."

"Or they'll say you've been a creepy stalker who's been trying to get into my pants for years." Foreman found a towel, briefly considered modesty, and then discarded the idea, rubbing himself down briskly.

"Possible." House wrinkled his nose. "I don't come off as the stalker type, do I?"

"You're borderline obsessive," Foreman told him, stepping into boxer shorts. "Wait, forget borderline. You are obsessive. And you have no life."

House snorted. "Well, neither do you, Mr. I-sleep-at-the-hospital."

Foreman tugged on his slacks and shirt and ignored that. "You should get out of those wet clothes."

"Was that a come-on?"

Sighing, Foreman gathered up the rest of his belongings. "Goodbye, House. Enjoy the tub."

And he left, before House could come up with anything else.

  
END  



End file.
